


Never Feed a Rogue After Midnight

by canthelpmyselves



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M, Pining, Secret Crush, Unhappy Ending, anonymous chef
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 12:57:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16175525
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canthelpmyselves/pseuds/canthelpmyselves
Summary: Someone is leaving delicious meals for the Rogues.





	Never Feed a Rogue After Midnight

**Crock pot Mystery**

Len stared at the crock pot sitting on his counter with a mix of confusion (he didn’t own a crock pot), alarm (someone had been in his safe house) and curiosity (whatever was cooking smelled incredible). Footsteps behind him had him gripping the handle of his coldgun as he spun. He relaxed slightly when he saw it was Hartley and Mick.

“Something smells delicious,” Hartley yawned, rubbing his eyes before moving in close to wrap around Len.

Len rubbed a hand up and down his lover’s back before nodding toward the crock pot. “Someone’s trying to cook.”

Hartley leaned a little toward the counter. “Is it edible?” he asked, knowing full well that none of the Rogues could do more than boil water for ramen or dial out for pizza. 

“No idea,” Len admitted, pressing a kiss to the back of Hartley’s neck. “You are, though,” he purred. 

“God, you two are disgusting,” Mick grumbled as Hartley giggled and turned to kiss Len, using a lot of tongue. He walked over and lifted the glass lid, the aroma spreading quickly through the room. 

“Wha’s tha’?” Lisa mumbled, stumbling into the room, sleepily. 

Mick grabbed a spoon and stirred it carefully. “Carrots, potatoes, something green and… I think it’s red meat but it’s not hamburger.”

Hartley pulled away from Len and peered into the pot. “The green things are peppers. It looks like there are pearl shallots in there, also. I believe it’s a roast.”

“What the hell’s a shallot?” Mark asked, wandering in, beer in hand.

“An onion,” Hartley replied. 

“So who decided to play Master Chef?” asked Lisa, hiding a yawn behind her hand.

“Not me,” Hartley answered. Len shrugged and shook his head. Mick snorted as if the answer ‘no’ should be obvious. Mark finished his beer. No need for him to answer. He once burned a pan boiling an egg.

“Should we try it?” she asked next.

Mick dipped the spoon back in and drew out a carrot, blowing cooler air over it so he could eat it. He nodded as he chewed. “’is good,” he said once he swallowed. Hartley moved out of Len’s arms and grabbed five bowls from a cabinet. Soon they were all sitting around the rickety kitchen table, eating.

 

**Meatballs the size of softballs**

Lisa lifted her feet off of Mark’s lap, sat up and sniffed the air carefully. She turned to look at Len and Hartley curled up on the recliner. “Do you smell something?”

Len, who was close to dozing off, looked at her blankly. “I’m not getting into another argument with you about my boots.”

Lisa rolled her eyes and stood up. “I’m not talking about your foot fungus, jerk. I smell food.”

“I didn’t know anyone ordered pizza,” Mick grumbled, walking into the den from the bathroom. “You fuckers better have ordered a hawaiian for me!”

“No one ordered anything,” Len growled, getting up and reaching for his gun. He could smell the food now, too. They carefully eased out of the den and made their way down the hall. The closer they got to the kitchen, the stronger the smell got.

Len poked his head around the door frame and searched the room carefully, but it was empty. On the center of the table was a large foil-covered pan. Satisfied no one was hiding, ready to ambush them, Len stepped into the room and peeled back the foil. Inside the aluminum pan were a dozen large meatballs, each one the size of a softball, covered in white sauce. Steam curled up from the food, along with an enticing aroma.

Lisa grabbed a fork from the table and stabbed at one. It broke open to reveal the inside was stuffed with spiral pasta and more of the sauce. “What the hell is that?”

Mick grabbed another fork and a plate, quickly claiming two of the meatballs. “Shit! It’s stuffed meatballs! I haven’t had these in years!”

“Stuffed meatballs?” Hartley repeated warily. 

Mick was already sitting down and splitting one open. “White cheddar sauce, too!” he said happily around a mouthful. “Man! I had a foster mother who used to make these!”

Mark was the next to join him, the first bite making him groan with pleasure. That was enough encouragement to get Len and Lisa to try the food, too. Even Hartley had to admit it was tasty.

 

**Shell-less tacos**

“Okay, this is getting ridiculous!” Len growled as he stared at the platter on the counter. Lined up were twenty large tomatoes, each one hollowed out and filled to the brim with seasoned meat, cheese, lettuce, sour cream and green onions. Beside the platter were two medium Tupperware bowls. One was labeled ‘salsa’ and the other ‘guacamole’. 

Mick and Mark just shrugged and grabbed plates and forks. Lisa went to the fridge for a beer and paused before pulling out a large pitcher. She sniffed it cautiously before grinning. “Score! Margaritas, boys!”

Len glared at the crew for several minutes but none of them paid any attention to him. With an annoyed huff he grabbed a plate and began eating. He would rather shoot himself with his gun than admit it was good, though.

 

**Cheeseburger Casserole**

“It looks ghastly,” Hartley sneered.

“Smells good,” Mick shrugged.

“What is it?” Lisa asked warily.

“Noodles, meat and some sort of yellow sauce,” Mark answered, peering at it like he expected it to attack.

“Cheeseburger casserole,” Len said faintly.

Everyone turned to look at him, astonished by the awed look on the normally repressed man’s face. Len moved closer and dipped a spoon into the dish and took a big bite. His eyes drifted closed and he let out a soft moan, not unlike the ones usually reserved for Hartley.

“Melted sharp cheddar, macaroni, ground beef, diced tomatoes, vidalia onions, and spinach,” Len told them reverently. “My mom used to make this when I was a little kid. It’s… it’s one of the few things I remember about her,” he admitted. “I swear, it tastes almost as good as hers.”

Hartley moved in close and wrapped his arms around Len’s waist, smiling gently at him. “I wouldn’t be opposed to trying it,” he said, happy to see his lover looking relaxed and open.

Mark passed out plates and they all took a portion, as well as some of the peas, fried potatoes and rolls that were lined up beside the dish. “You know, we really should figure out who’s cooking for us.”

Lisa snorted as she spread butter (real, fresh butter according to the handmade label on the container) on her roll. “And risk having it all stop? No, thank you.”

Mick nodded, mouth full of casserole. “I’m with Lisa,” he said once he swallowed. “Don’t rock the food boat!”

Len tuned them all out as he slowly ate his food, savoring each bite. Memories of his mom filtered through his head over and over, filling him with warmth and nostalgia.

 

**Slow-cooker Chicken and Dumplings**

The crock pot was back. It had disappeared a couple of days after the roast was eaten. Now it sat on the counter, slowly emitting a savory smell. Len huffed, half amused and half annoyed. He had a suspicion as to who was now feeding the crew, but no proof. Mick, Mark and Lisa were sitting at the table already, empty bowls waiting in front of them. Hartley was putting together what looked like a salad, carefully following the instructions on an index car.

“The card said the chicken and dumplings would be ready at 4,” Lisa said, eyeing the clock over the sink. “Then it told us how to put together coleslaw from the stuff in the fridge.”

“Coleslaw and chicken and dumplings?” Len repeated. “I’m guessing that’s someone’s favorite meal.”

Mick nodded quickly. “Nana’s house on Sundays,” he said, almost drooling. Len huffed and walked over to lean his chin on Hartley’s shoulder and watch him mix the dressing.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Hartley quietly pointed out.

Len shrugged. “No.”

“You know who it is,” the hacker accused teasingly.

“I have a suspicion,” Len admitted.

“Care to share with the man who shares your bed?”

Len pressed a kiss to his neck. “Not yet. Need proof.”

“Soon?” Hartley asked.

“Very soon.”

 

**Shrimp and Sausage Gumbo**

“How do you know no one has a seafood allergy?”

Barry smirked as he continued to add Cajun seasoning, salt, pepper and garlic into the big pot. “Make yourself useful and pour the broth in for me.”

Len huffed at Barry’s lack of response and moved to join him at the stove. He picked up the glass measuring cup and slowly poured in the broth while Barry continued to stir. 

“Now the tomatoes,” the speedster nodded his chin toward the cutting board. 

“What am I, Gordon Ramsey?” Len grumbled.

Barry chuckled and glanced at him. “Are you really complaining about eating better?”

“Nothing wrong with pizza and burgers,” he said reaching for the box of recipes and flipping through it.

“Not occasionally,” Barry conceded. “I like Big Belly Burger as much as the next guy. But, it’s not a healthy constant. As for the allergy thing, I read all of your prison records. Allergies are included.”

Len rolled his eyes and watched Barry move on to peeling and deveining shrimp. “So why the sudden interest in feeding your enemy?”

Barry bit his bottom lip and shrugged one shoulder. “Would you believe I just like cooking and decided to share?”

The thief snorted before eyeing Barry warily. “Look, as fun as our fights are, and as much as I enjoy our… banter, Hartley wouldn’t take to kindly to anyone being interested in me.”

The speedster giggled even as a blush crept up his cheeks. He looked over at Len as if debating with himself. After several seconds he gave a tiny nod indicating he had made a decision. “Not to deflate your massive ego, but you’re not the Rogue I’m interested in.”

“Oh?” Len asked, both relieved and (just slightly) disappointed. He lifted one eyebrow imperiously. “Hart’s not up for grabs either, in case you didn’t catch my meaning.”

“Not my type,” Barry shrugged.

“Neither is Lisa.”

Barry dumped the shrimp into the pot and stirred it slowly. “Um, so I was thinking of trying my hand at a lava cake. Ever had one?”

“Who doesn’t love chocolate?” Len started to suggest a mint chocolate cheesecake, instead, having come across that recipe card, when his brain stuttered. Lava cake? Stuffed meatballs. Chicken and dumplings. No. Wait! What? “MICK?” he gasped loudly.

Barry’s entire face flamed and his shoulders hunched. “What? Noooo,” he mumbled awkwardly.

Len knew his jaw was hanging open, but he couldn’t help it. “But… you… Mick… how?”

“We spent some time together during the Dominator invasion,” Barry said hesitantly. “Not a good time for either of us. He was still grieving for you and the Legends acted like he was some sort of rabid dog half the time. The other half they treated him like he was stupid.” 

Len tensed, knowing exactly how hard that time had been on Mick. Mistrusted or looked down on, he had turned to drinking himself into a stupor most nights. It took him while to pull himself out of it. He started playing around with an old typewriter he found and it helped give him focus. 

“No one trusted me, either, with good reason. Some days they still don’t.”

More tension, because he had heard from Hartley exactly how Barry’s team were treating him. The hacker admitted he had seriously considered kidnapping Barry and trying to convince him to join the Rogues just so he would have some support, but Lisa had nixed that idea every time. He loves his sister, but she refused to side against Ramon on anything. Personally, he was grateful that Barry had changed the timeline. Flashpoint and it’s reset had made it possible for him to find his way out of the timestream the occulus’ explosion had swept him into. 

“So, we ended up spending most of the time between battles together,” Barry continued. “He’s smarter than everyone believes. He’s funny. Handsome.” Barry sighed heavily and turned to face Len. “I guess this is where you tell me I’m an idiot and that there’s no way Mick Rory would ever like me. Well, don’t bother. I already know that.”

Barry wiped his hands on a towel and turned to grab a large china serving bowl with a lid. He diligently washed it to make sure there was no dust inside then dried it and set it beside the stove. “I’m not doing this to… to seduce him, or anything. I know he isn’t into guys. I’m doing it because I like him. I like all of you, but Mick deserves to have someone care about him. I cook for him because it makes me happy to know he’s eating well.”

Len watched silently as Barry filled the bowl, taped down the lid and placed it in a temperature controlled carry bag. He placed a smaller bowl of what looked like homemade biscuits on top and zipped it closed. Barry slid it across the counter and began washing the dishes and utensils he had used. 

Len lifted the bag and settled the carry strap over his shoulder. He tried to think of something to say, but the careful way Barry avoided his eyes and the tense set of his shoulders told Len it would best to just drop the subject. For now anyway. “Thanks,” he said before leaving.

The gumbo was a huge hit, especially with Mark who had spent a few years in Louisiana and had fond memories of Cajun food. It wasn’t until they were in bed that Hartley brought it up. 

“You brought the food, this time.”

Len nodded. “Picked it up from our chef.”

“How is Barry?” he asked slyly. “Do I need to worry about marking my territory?”

Len huffed. Of course his genius boyfriend had figured it out. “Not me he’s interested in.”

Hartley looked surprised. “Really? Then why all the food?”

The thief sighed and shook his head. He actually felt a great deal of pity for his frienemy. “You can’t let this get out, babe. He’s doing it for Mick.”

Hartley’s jaw dropped in shock. “Mick Rory?” he hissed quietly. “You’re just fucking with me, right?”

Len shook his head. “He likes Mick. Told me he’s doing it to make sure Mick has decent meals, not just fast food.”

“He does know Mick’s absolutely straight, right?” he asked.

Len nodded. “Yeah.”

Hartley was quiet for a long moment. “Fuck. Poor Barry.”

Len nodded and pulled Hartley close. It was a long time before either fell asleep, their thoughts on the speedster in love with the pyro.

 

**(Epilogue)**

Mick finished polishing his heatgun and set it on the bedside table. He took a quick shower and pulled on boxers and a t-shirt before climbing into bed. Once he was settled he turned off the lamp and reached into a hidden pocket of the pillow for the emblem inside. He traced the golden lightning bolt over the red background slowly. 

He had found it in one of the storage units while the rest of the teams were training with Skirt before facing off with the aliens. He knew it had no monetary value, but it made him feel good to have something of the kid’s. A keepsake, of sorts.

He wasn’t stupid or blind. He knew what almost everyone thought of him. Only Snart had ever had any faith in him. Even when they were on the outs he knew Snart would have his back. The kid, Barry, hadn’t liked the way the other Legends treated him. He could see it in the hero’s eyes. He had heard Barry chastise Lance and Queen for it. When Sara told him about the Kronos thing, Barrry had ripped into them both, reminding them that neither of them had a leg to stand on. After all, he pointed out, hadn’t Lance and Queen been assassins? Hadn’t they killed people as vigilantes? It soothed something in him to know that someone that heroic had stood up for him. 

Then, after everything was over and they had been given medals and made a fuss over, the kid had teasingly suggested they make a photo album to remember everything. Mick had acted reluctant, but secretly, he enjoyed having his picture taken with Barry, Skirt and Haircut. Once they were back in the timestream, an idea began to form in his head. Another way to preserve the memories. He had Gideon make him a typewriter, an old fashioned one, since he wanted to make sure no one could hack it and see what he was writing. By the time he had it all recorded, he found he enjoyed the activity and branched out into actual stories. 

So far he had gotten three short stories published. Granted they were technically published in 1985 in a sci-fi magazine under the name Michael Rossi, but they were his stories and he was proud of them. He likes to think Barry would be proud of him, too.

Mick sighed and placed the emblem back in it’s hiding spot. A man can dream, right.

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted a happy ending for this, but it just didn't work. Mick was too stubborn to admit his feelings and Barry was too insecure to go after what he wanted. I hate it when these two work against my need for fluff.


End file.
